


We Go Together (Or We Don't Go Down At All)

by elivigar



Category: All Time Low (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Swearing, This is so pointless and ridiculous good grief I am sorry, Writing it was fun tho?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elivigar/pseuds/elivigar
Summary: It’s not the first time Jack has been to Paris, nor is it the first time the band has been to Paris and he and Alex have ventured out to explore on their own. It is, however, the first time they’ve been here since the night seven months ago when they got drunk on Alex’ couch for shits and giggles and wound up with their pants around their ankles and their tongues down each other’s throats. That was also for shits and giggles. Sort of.In which Jack and Alex take a stroll around Paris one blazing hot afternoon.
Relationships: Jack Barakat/Alex Gaskarth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	We Go Together (Or We Don't Go Down At All)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellawritess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/gifts).



> This one goes out to Bella, who have """""""jokingly"""""" asked me more than once when I was gonna write Jalex, the last time as late as early this morning (will you believe me if I say that it was as late as Wednesday that I hit up Hazel and asked her for your reader profile from the fic exchange because I wanted to write you a Jalex piece and needed to know more specifically what you were into reading?), so... hope you like this♥ Also shout outs to Sam, for giving me the general idea for the plot and to Meghna, whose PP intro to Jalex was of very big help to me when I was trying to figure out how to write a fic about two people I barely know the names of♥

“This doesn’t taste like a croissant.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you got one with almond filling in it.”

“I didn’t think it’d compromise the flavor this much.”

“What? How could you not—”

“I just didn’t, okay?”

Jack snorts at the almost offended glare Alex is eyeing his, apparently, unsatisfactory croissant with. “Want half of mine, then?” he asks, holding up his _regular_ croissant. He doesn’t wait for Alex to respond before he tears off a chunk of the pastry and shoves it halfway into Alex’ mouth. “There, now eat it, shut up for a moment and enjoy Paris.”

In spite of his own words, Jack himself finds it hard to enjoy Paris. Not that he’s about to say that out loud, not after he spent all morning and most of the day badgering Alex to leave the hotel in favour of exploring the streets of Paris. The thing is, however, that the hotel has air conditioning, which the open streets definitely don’t. They should, but they don’t.

Jack wonders if it’s possible for one’s feet to get so sweaty that they develop webbing between the toes. If the answer to that is yes, he thinks his feet are in grave danger of becoming amphibian.

They’ve been wandering around for almost two hours, checking out stores, trying to count the number of bakeries they pass (“Those aren’t bakeries, the signs say something else!” Jack insisted at one point, to which Alex responded with an incredulous, “Because we’re in _France_ and the signs are in _French!_ ”), and Jack has absolutely no idea where they are. 

Close to hell, if the blazing late afternoon sun is a reliable indicator. 

The city itself is amazing, though. Jack likes Paris; he likes how the vibe is bustling yet relaxed at the same time, he likes the oddly sweet smell that seems to linger in the air, he likes how having a glass of wine for lunch is completely acceptable, he likes how many baguettes he sees because he’s nothing if not a sucker for more or less harmless stereotypes that turn out to be true, and he likes the architecture, which is slightly odd because Jack has never been one to give a rat’s ass about architecture. 

Must be something about the parisian air that’s making him a little loopy.

It’s not the first time Jack has been to Paris, nor is it the first time the band has been to Paris and he and Alex have ventured out to explore on their own. It is, however, the first time they’ve been here since the night seven months ago when they got drunk on Alex’ couch for shits and giggles and wound up with their pants around their ankles and their tongues down each other’s throats. That was also for shits and giggles. Sort of. 

But then it happened again a week later. 

Then again three days after that. 

It happened again and again for two consecutive months until Jack decided that enough was enough and told Alex, “This thing where we get our dicks out together is fun and all, but isn’t it time we address the blatant what-the-fuckness of it all?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Alex said matter-of-factly as he buttoned up his jeans, then slumped back on the couch. “I like doing it. You have nice hands and a nice mouth, so unless you wanna stop, I vote we continue.”

Jack agreed and that had been that, really, and so they continued, even after they got back on the road and had to accept that while _they_ liked seeing each other naked, not everyone else appreciated seeing them naked. Jack, personally, took great offence when Rian told them as much on the bus one evening while Zack nodded in silent agreement. Alex shrugged and pointed out that there were probably people out there who’d _pay_ to see them naked.

“And to them I say that some things are best left to the imagination,” Rian said, giving them unimpressed glares in turn. “Do what you want, but keep it off the bus.”

Jack thinks they deserve a prize for only having ignored Rian’s request a total of four times since then.

“Jack?” Alex says just as they’re passing what’s either a very cramped clothing store or someone’s strangely public closet. “Real sorry to have to break your heart, but I’m not enjoying Paris right now.”

“Try harder,” Jack says, even though he silently agrees, thinking to himself that if only the tour had taken them to Paris on a slightly cooler week, this day would have had the potential of being a delight. They’re not trying to force any ridiculous expectations or requests onto Paris; they’d just need the temperature to be a few measly degrees lower.

Alex grunts. “I’m trying my best, but all I can focus on is that I wish I had a razor available so I could shave my hair off and get more oxygen to my brain.”

“Some solid science you’re presenting there,” Jack says. “Have you considered getting a medical degree so you could share that wisdom with people who’d truly appreciate it?”

“I have, but I decided I’m simply too smart to become a doctor. Better stick to music to avoid intimidating anyone with the sheer power of my brain at full capacity.”

“Didn’t know you were that considerate. I love that I’m still learning new things about you after all these years.”

“Uh-huh.” Alex drags his hands across his face. “Is there a fountain anywhere nearby that we can skinny dip in?” he asks, turning his head back and forth as if he’s expecting a fountain to magically appear between the flower shop on the corner and the bookstore next to it.

“I know French people are a little odd, what with their funny nasal vowels and all that cheese and eating snails and inventing a contraption specifically designed to chop people’s heads off and—

“Do you have a point or are you just gonna keep listing things about France that are odd?”

Jack grins. “ _But_ despite the charming strangeness of this otherwise fine country, I just don’t think skinny dipping in public fountains is considered decent behavior.”

Flinging an arm around Jack’s shoulders, Alex presses the sides of their head together. Jack nearly trips over a cobblestone in his haste to fall into the, admittedly awkward, embrace, and Alex laughs. “We’re worried about _decent_ behavior, now, are we?” Alex asks. “Where the fuck was that concern when I had my hand down your pants on the balcony last night?”

The memory makes Jack snicker a little. “My room’s on the 12th floor, it’s not like there was any chance anyone would see us.”

“So you kept telling me, even after someone wolf whistled from a window one or two stories above us.”

“You have no way of knowing that was aimed at us.”

“Who else would it be aimed at?” Alex laughs.

“Dunno,” Jack says with a shrug. “Maybe someone else was getting off while floating in the air somewhere nearby.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s go with that, much more plausible.”

“Like I said: The french have strange ways of going about their daily lives. And strange contraptions.”

“I think we would have heard about it if they invented something that allowed one to float freely in the air,” Alex says soberly. Not giving Jack a chance to respond, he continues, “Fuck, I’m hungry. Is it dinner time yet?”

“It’s dinner time when we say it’s dinner time,” Jack says. Taking a step away from Alex, he straightens his tanktop where it’s ridden up over his hip. “What do you wanna eat?”

After wandering down another couple of streets, they find a Metro station and descend down the stairs to get to the rails. A map of the line is showcased on a large board next to the ticket machines, serving as an excellent catalyst for an argument about a topic they’ve somehow managed to avoid arguing about so far in their lives — public transportation in a foreign country.

“No, it doesn’t run in a fucking circle,” Jack says, rapping his fingers against the map. “It stops at… what does that say? Marie de Montréal?"

Alex throws his hands in the air. “It doesn’t say Marie and it doesn’t say Montréal and I’m pretty sure you’re mispronouncing ‘de’ as well,” he says.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were the residing band expert in foreign languages,” Jack says and sticks his tongue out. “Wanna start giving me French lessons, then?”

“I’ll give you a fucking French lesson,” Alex mutters. He folds his arms over his chest and starts studying the map again, narrowing his eyes a little as he does. “How do we know it doesn’t go in a circle?”

Jack makes a face. He has mixed feelings about the entire exchange. On one hand, he would quite like to tackle Alex to the ground and sit on him until he agrees to shut the fuck up and go with what Jack is saying. On the other hand, he finds a concentrating, slightly grumpy Alex to be a cute creature that he’d like to pepper with kisses.

“I think it would be indicated somehow if it was,” he says. “Does it matter, anyway? We’re going to Franklin D. Roosevelt and then—”

“How weird is it that they have a Metro station named after an American president smacked right in the middle of Paris?” Alex muses.

Jack no longer has mixed feelings — he wants to sit on Alex until he shuts up. “Yeah, it’s almost like politics is an international affair,” he says flatly. “Can we just get on the damn train and go?”

It takes them two tries to get to Franklin D. Roosevelt, and though it’s annoying to have to get off at the end stop and have to find their way to the opposite side of the tracks, Jack struts all the way because he was _right_ about the trains not going in circles. He keeps strutting until they’re almost at the restaurant picked out for them by TripAdvisor, and the only reason he stops is that Alex threatens to pee in his suitcase if he doesn’t. While he doesn’t think Alex would go quite that far for a bit of petty revenge, he doesn’t believe in tempting fate either.

Plus, there is slight a chance that Alex _would_ go that far for a bit of petty revenge.

The restaurant is located on a relatively busy street, but it’s closed off for motorized vehicles, and there’s an almost mellow atmosphere hanging in the air in the half-full outside dining area they’re seated in. Jack waits until a waiter has taken their orders and brought them a basket of bread before he takes a proper look around. 

The sun has almost set and the temperature has thankfully dropped from scorching to mildly uncomfortable, making Jack less likely to grab his beer and throw it in his own face just to cool off than he would have been a couple of hours earlier. Plants are hanging from the wooden awning above them, surrounded by strings of medium-sized light bulbs that give off a warm, golden glow. Frowning a little, Jack swipes his gaze over the other tables, and it doesn’t take him more than approximately three seconds to conclude that most of them seem to be occupied by couples.

Grabbing a piece of bread from the basket, Jack takes a bite and chews slowly as he looks at Alex, who’s busy on his phone. It takes a while, but he looks up eventually and his lips curl into a smile when his eyes connect with Jack’s. “Why do you look like you’re pondering some deep and profound questions?” he asks.

Through a mouthful of bread, Jack asks, “Are we on a date right now? Is this a date?”

Alex blinks, lowering his phone to the table as he regards Jack thoughtfully. “Kinda feels like one, doesn’t it?” he asks after a small stretch of silence. “Not that we’ve been on any dates in the past, but… this definitely feels like one.”

Jack hums in agreement. “Romantic setting. Romantic city. Strong possibility of getting laid later. All in all this is better than any pre-planned date I’ve ever been on.”

“Okay, let’s say it’s a date, then,” Alex says easily. “Do I get flowers later?”

“Do _I_ get flowers?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t either.”

“We’re a match made in heaven.”

Jack smiles. “Always have been.”

Something inexplicably soft flutters over Alex’ face, a hint of a smile, a brightness in his eyes. It’s only there for a moment, not long enough for Jack to get a chance to fully appreciate it, but long enough that it prompts a flutter of warmth to arise in his chest.

“Yeah,” Alex says after a moment. “Always have been.”

Jack smiles and gives Alex’ calf a gentle nudge with his foot under the table.

Maybe, just maybe, the day turned out to be a delight after all.

Jack is still checking his feet for webbing when they get back to the hotel, though.


End file.
